Debts Left Unpaid : NFS Carbon
by Zoomer Slick
Summary: John Tanner is the Most Wanted racer in Rockport. On the run from the betrayal and shock he suffered, he finds himself in his old hometown of Palmont City. With year-old debts left unpaid and promises unfulfilled, Tanner not only has to look over his shoulder, but focus on the road ahead if he wants any hope of making amends with his former friends, and closer than friends.
1. Chapter 1: Old Wounds, New Beginnings

" _ **Palmont City - 10 miles"**_. The beams of my headlights encompassed the sign before passing it by completely. The reverb of the exhaust sent shockwaves through brisk high-atmospheric air and left whirlwinds behind me.

The one area on the map of the U.S I had been thoroughly avoiding for as long as I could. Stretching out my racing prowess to Olympic City, Bayview County, then to Rockport. My patience was wearing thin on the run from Rockport PD on whether or not to explore other areas or return home to make amends and repay my debts from the past. Palmont was my first home. Home to my friends, family. I left so much behind, so many loose ends not tied. And one female partner who I promised to always be there for. Home to much more than just a past life.

And home to that oh so fateful night 3 years prior. The damned night that sent me empty handed out of town.

All it took was the setting of the sun and the start of a race for my whole world to come crashing down.

* * *

" _Start it up"_

 _She leaned into the window of the driver's side letting her bangs fly freely, bearing the innocent smile of a schoolgirl. It was a passion we shared, loving to work under the hood whenever possible. Since the beginning of high school we found each other casting side glances when we thought the other wasn't looking. I always turned out to choke on making my move, and she knew it too. It took some time, but the tables turned and she asked me, not the other way around for a shot at a first date; now how can a guy say no to that? Escaping the friendzone would be a feat in it of itself for all the teenagers today._

 _Once I depressed the clutch pedal, turned the key, and held…...nothing. With an exasperated sigh, and dread, I tried again. I turned the key with as much force as I could muster, and gave it a bit of throttle. It had spark, but fuel wasn't being delivered through the lines. In haste, I planted my foot on the accelerator firmly, watching the tachometer needle skyrocket to redline. The 2JZGTE rumbled to life, peaking the 7,200 RPM redline to make sure it wouldn't stall on idle. She wiped the sweat from her brow as did I, relieved that after the strenuous work and time put into the project, it's able to greet the pavement. I slammed the hood shut and got her to join me in the car. Harnesses locked and shifter locked into 1st gear, it was time to go greet the client. A solid black '11' was all that was left of our shared presence. A parting gift to the sleet-like garage floor that aided our project._

 _I pulled the clients car up the narrow and pot-holed massed stretch of road into an abandoned lot. Stepping out onto the rugged and coarse concrete greeted me with wind chill and temperature spikes in the negatives I wasn't expecting. I tossed him the keys to his car, communicating the job was done and payment was due. He tossed me the keys right back, as a return favor I hadn't imagined he'd jump for._

" _Don't disappoint", was all he told me._

 _The air was frigid, my breath coming out in cold, visible wisps floating aimlessly through the surrounding space. My hands were shaking furiously, part due to my excitement and impending hypothermia. I managed to catch the cold piece of metal reserved for the inline 6 beast to my direct right; an A80 Toyota Supra. While not my own ride, I was evidently on a list of trustworthy candidates to drive it. After all, I did build it. Anxiety paired with the cold air striking my exposed skin wasn't setting my nerves into a calming state, nor was the destination and job I had panned out._

 _He had enough trust in me to run for him in the battle between the 4 major players through all 4 areas. As the Leader of the Stacked Deck crew, with me behind the wheel he had everything to lose. All the work me and her had put in to the car for him to race, now had the pressure resting solely on my shoulders. I couldn't possibly let them down. He had friends in high places, and I prefered to remain in my lane, away from prying eyes and police sirens. Unfortunately, that was going to have to change for one night, seeing as how the entire racing scene is one big gambling den, and he was betting all his chips on my win. Attention was expected, but it wasn't welcome._

 _Focusing on the race start. On the line walked a flag girl in sync with the rhythm of the British and American V8's, the Japanese Rotary, and the beast of a Japanese inline 6 that I had was positioned behind. That flag girl was my girl. She was mesmerizing, Effortlessly sauntering out to face 4 deadly machines head on, not even a sweat-drop of the brow or a stutter in her sashay._

 _21st Street ruled the muscle scene, TFK guided the exotics, and Bushido shredded the tires on tuner culture. 3 different drivers from each of the 3 different crews came from different parts of the city. Each coming together to race for the keys to the entire city. Whomever reigned triumphant, ruled over every rice burner or seasoned professional who roamed the streets in need of a race. This was a big deal. Territory is wealth in Carbon County, and nobody can get enough. The industrial yard marked as the starting line saw spectators lined up and down the drive, eagerly awaiting the flag to drop, tires to spin, and traction to be found so the race could begin. Slipping under the radar was a sting operation led by an unknown caller. Of course during this time I was oblivious to it all, my nerves shutting down in the moment . To my chagrin, I noticed the atmosphere was tense. Sure the stakes were high, but I had an underlying gut feeling the outcome of this race wasn't going to be pretty. I shook off the intruding thought and focused on my destination; this very spot 3 laps from now._

 _I roll up in the 4th and final position, racing for him, for Stacked Deck, for Silverton. Pressure was high, stakes were higher, and my focus was dead-centered on the double yellow lines in front as I mentally prepare for what could be my big break. For me and her. After all I've worked towards to be honored behind the wheel of my mentor, the one who found me in my area of need. After my stint in engine mechanics, he bred me to be the best, and I was more than that._

 _It wasn't until later I had realized just how much of a threat I was, and for the wrong reasons as well. I thought I had it all figured out, and boy was I misled drastically. That's a story for another day._

 _Shaken out of my trance in thinking about the future this race could hold, was a British, an American, and a Japanese tune firing its way out the tailpipes of their respective Aston Martin DB9, Dodge Charger R/T, and Mazda RX-7. She stood in direct center of the 2 lane backstreet, poised with the bag in hand, reminding those behind the wheel just how high the stakes really were. That if you treat this as a game, you're going home empty handed. As she lifted it above her waist and held it firm next to her temple, I shifted the mighty Supra into 1st and built up my RPM's, being the last motor to emit reverb from my exhaust. I held, and held, anxious to launch off the line and rocket towards the first corner. I could sense the transmission heating up beneath me as I staged the car for what felt like forever._

 _The moment she made eye contact with me, was the same moment she dropped the bag and the race began. I let off the clutch pedal and grabbed wheelspin off the starting line, a thin cloud of tire smoke emanating from behind my car. Brake boosting and building my PSI meant my launch was explosive, and rocketed away from the intangible starting block. Everyone's launch was similar in velocity, but the DB9 and the Charger pulled into first and second from the low end torque they carried, while I held third in the Supra keeping the RX-7 in my rearview._

 _Corner 2 came up abruptly, and I transferred the weight of the vehicle to the left to countersteer the same way. In my peripheral, I saw the DB9 cut the corner wide into oncoming traffic, a giant Semi truck running through his line directly. With no other option, he backed off the throttle, slammed on the brakes and ripped his handbrake in order to prevent collision. Now I held second place and the modern Aston Martin found himself dead last. On the straightaway, he was dodging oncoming traffic trying to swerve by; however he handicapped himself, the constant movement and loss of balance never allowed him a straight shot at an overtake. Balance increases traction. This cat and mouse action continued on until the next corner showed itself. Approaching a sharp right, I downshifted into 2nd gear, heel-and-toe action caused the gauge needle to graze redline on the tachometer, limiter being met on a constant as I drift through the corner. Modulating the throttle I maintained a consistent and fluent line grabbing 1st place. Of course that didn't last long at all. Milliseconds of first position came and went like a light._

 _The RX-7 applied his brakes later, and because of his rotary's peppy high redline and low center of gravity, he was able to make it work. He slipped by on the outside line and flew ahead, narrowly navigating his line onto the sidewalk, and inches away from the bridge's walls. The Charger behind him on the contrary ran the corner wide, but instead of flying ahead, she flew into the barrier, her right rear quarter panel making contact first, then scraping her front end ever so slightly on her botched exit. This was due in part to her not taking into account just how girthy the dimensions of the American classic were. I glanced in my right-side-view just as her ass end jumped the remainder of the curb and picked up speed._

 _All four of us were coming up on the final stretch of asphalt between our current lap, and the finish line. I held the lead, making sure I keep all 3 opponents within the confines of my side and rear view mirrors. Reaching redline in 4th gear, I quickly shift into 5th and surge ahead slightly. Seeing my speedometer at 130 and climbing, at 5,000 RPM I had room for one shot of NOS. Activating the bottle and arming my spray, I flipped the switch and found wheelspin in overdrive, tires spinning and smoking in the wake of the extra shot of horsepower. It was at least 160 on the speedo as I came down to the final 100m. I was going to win, all the work had finally paid off, and in more ways than one. I initiated a momentum-propelled drift and rounded the final 90 degree corner as the finish line graced my eyesight._

 _Of course, that would just be too easy. Victory was short lived, and a long term mistake._

 _The instant my front end crossed the finish line, The DB9, the Charger, and the RX-7 had their vehicles hit by police EMP's seemingly out of the shadows. Of course I had no idea at first, but upon hearing sirens, I flipped the back end around and saw the aftermath. Handcuffs given to my 3 opponents, One with curly hair and a long silver flowing trench coat. Beside him was a woman with a braided ponytail, a tanktop and sweats adorning her figure. Finally came the Asian-looking man; his blocky sunglasses and tacky green vest were the last I saw before chaos ensued. Spectators fleeing the scene, A helicopter above circling the area, providing aerial support to the ground units who intercepted the race. I went into a state of panic, all of these interceptions and busts filling me up with dread. I paused and hyperventilated in the heat of the moment, since no cop was pursuing me inside the car yet._

 _It was all too much. Too fast. Not enough time to recuperate._

 _I spotted her again, this time at the edge of the sidewalk, fear evident in those glassy wide eyes of hers. I couldn't blame her, I'm probably in a worse state of fear than she is. On instinct, slamming my shifter into 1st gear, I drove up to her and ripped the handbrake beside her. I quickly rolled down the window and unlocked the door so she could hop in. She tossed me the red bag with the winnings. Next thing I know I see her lose her footing and a pudgy cop grabs her from behind and drags her down and they both collide with the cold, gritty asphalt. I was about to help her up, but I heard her faint "GO" behind me. I found first gear and spun my tires around, looking for an escape route. My rear end was caught in an endless fishtail as I scanned the immediate area for an escape route. After my tires had seen enough abuse, the heat from the immense friction now radiating into the cockpit made me sweat. A silver Chrysler 300 moved from his spot blocking an alleyway from the yard to the interstate. That was my out. I had no hesitation present, and gunned it through the spot, unaware he moved back to block the area as soon as I took his bait. I burst through the metal security gate and merged onto the freeway out of the city and towards the position of the first route out of town. After all, the heat wouldn't chase after me forever, just chill out at a safe house and wait for it to blow over._

 _Completely forgetting about the bag, I was eager to at least take a look at my winnings. I could bail her out of jail, set money aside for a future, buy a car, etc. Everything had a plan. My face fell and the rhythm of my heartbeat came to an abrupt halt as I scanned what exactly I had won._

 _Newspaper clippings. Not a single Benjamin in here._

 _I hung my head down, trying to figure out how it could've came to be, what would've went wrong. Of course Lady Luck hadn't had enough misfortune out of me, she decided my punishment thus far wasn't as she saw fit. So it changed. On instant, HE called. I picked up the phone and he wasn't angry or disappointed. If anything, his tone and attitude seemed indifferent, like keeping a level head throughout the entire playthrough. He finished off with…._

" _Look, between the heat and the crews you NEED to walk away. Take my car go, get outta here!"_

 _Part of me wanted so badly to disobey him. Just to stay and prove he was over-reacting. I couldn't leave her, and if I HAD too, I couldn't contact her. No matter the reason, I heard sirens and the black and whites were faintly popping up about ¾ of a mile behind me. So for the first time I did something I would in the future regret deeply. A part of history I can no longer create or change._

 _I left. Slamming the case of my phone shut and tossing it on the seat, I weighed my options. There was only one. Not looking back. Downshifting into 3rd gear and mashing the throttle I made my way towards the county line. The beginning of a new chapter had begun, leaving my current one unfinished and blank as I hit 120 on the speedo. My new home away from home didn't seem so inviting given the circumstances._

* * *

Returning back to reality I found myself shaken out of a trance, not noticing I've travelled considerably further down the canyon stretch, and not done by my own conscience. My internal autopilot must have guided me this far. Glimpses and flashes of that night 3 years ago kept bringing HER face to the front of my mind. I missed her affection; the way she always greeted me through the garage door's back entrance. HIS guidance, his mellow and tranquilizing instruction. The thrill of flying down the abandoned industrial lots practicing my lines and driving techniques. It all flooded my mind with a haze I couldn't seem to get rid of. The past can't be rewritten, nor can it be replayed. All I had now was the regret I didn't do anything different weighing my mood down. Apertures in each of the guard rail sections served as a passage for old memories to come flying in.

Through to the end of my somber internal photo album of memories that kept bothering me, and passing through a series of S-curves and wicked tight chicanes, I heard the distinct growl of a throaty V8 on my tail end. The kind of sound only a 7.0L LS7 would make. At first I figured it was a late night racer out to attack the corners and times. I slowed down and took the outside line for the next couple of times as I heard the Doppler Effect of the engine increase. I rounded another hairpin, and heard the motor right up on me, thinking he'll finally pass. Glancing in the rearview I was only able to capture the headlights of a car before I got shunted from behind. Almost certain I got minor whiplash from that ordeal, I was hit again, severely pissing me off. I was about to brake check this asshat and settle it fisticuffs on the ground.

With one hand on the wheel, I used my free hand to grab my phone and flip open the casing. One look at the caller ID my face went completely ghost-like. My heartrate slowed considerably as my head pounded. All the memories of the Blacklist, the Jail. The fix.

He was back to finish the job. Rockport couldn't hold back a man with a grudge. That LS7 belonged to a Corvette. One I hoped I wouldn't ever have the privilege to hear or see again. I was hesitant to even look at the screen anymore, but an unconscious and demanding voice in the back of my head ordered me to answer it.

So I did just that.

The voice on the other end made my blood run cold and my face to visibly pale even more than it already was. The vocals from the other end of the phone weren't fueled by anger, rage, and regret. It scared me even more to hear just how monotone and emotionless he sounded. That was just him chuckling. In the time I had left, this man had changed. Disconnected somehow.

It just couldn't be. Even if Palmont and Rockport are connected within the Tri-state, he couldn't come out here without warrant or suspicions, of which at this time I had none of. As far as I knew my rap sheet and lists of infractions remained in Rockport and wouldn't go nationwide Nevertheless, I held the Nokia up to my ear even closer, and those 4 words he uttered made time stand still, solidifying the fact this wasn't a dream, but was real.

 **"** **Hey, guess who's back?"**


	2. Chapter 2: Silently Saying Sorry

" _Hey, guess who's back?"_

His voice rang in my ears and stuck itself on repeat. My breath hitched and my muscles tensed as he rammed me again, only this time with more force, causing my rear 2 tires to lose contact with the road. Before he had a chance to send me off the cliffside, I downshifted into 2nd gear, my tachometer needle leaping towards 6,000 RPM, and put the pedal down in hopes of creating distance. I surged away, but with all these corners he the vehicular arsonist kept pace in his modified race car.

I kept sparing glances towards my rearview, everytime in doing so my eyes feverishly dart back to the road, still in utter disbelief he broke jurisdiction and tailed me out of Rockport. His face kept bringing back old wounds. Mia's real identity as a UC, the bridge jump, and my initial encounter towards the top of the mountain where we nearly sent me into a shock induced coma. Nevertheless, I finally found a rhythm, and the tunnel vision warps around my peripherals as I continue widening the gap I just created between me and him.

Every motion was fluid, every gear shift through my straight-cut H-pattern shifter was seamless, every flick of the wheel my clammy hands brush against the alcantara adorning the circumference. My fine pedal work from right heel on the brake, toe on the gas, and left foot working the clutch was so effortless. High pressure situations are a commodity I've grown used to in Rockport. Everytime you pulled up at a red light there was always the sinking feeling you'd come face to face with a cop who recognized the heat level you and your car had garnered, and soon a pursuit was underway. Civic cruisers may as well have been Devil's children in my quest to reclaim my car.

A series of hairpins followed and a straightaway opened up and I let loose. A long sweeping right approached, and I kept my foot firmly planted on the gas. I made contact with a metal support beam and a bunch of warning signs. Thinking it was a pursuit breaker as I would in any other police scenario, I soldiered through it, in hopes this would total my pursuer's car and let me carry on.

Oh no. We couldn't have me getting away this time, could we?

Reaching the end of the site, an 18-wheeler bearing concrete pipes stood from lane to lane, blocking my escape entirely. I quickly on instinct whip the back end out into a 180, pulverised my transmission synchros in putting the car into 1st gear, and spun the tires in hopes of not losing any momentum on my exit.

Well it turned out those pipes were on the cop's side tonight.

My spoiler got caught on one of the cables tying down the pipes, and sheared it clean off, allowing a path for the pipes to freefall on top of my car. Hearing the impact and visualizing the dents a few of them made, I kept the tachometer needle at redline, the nylon tubes within my semi-slicks threatening to rupture under the heat and friction. Now I was seriously panicking for the first time in awhile. Just as I found a weak form of traction, the Corvette appeared in front of me, and I had no choice but to slam on the brakes entirely and stall out the car, just as the rest of the tower of concrete collapsed on every part of the car, effectively totalling it.

I undid the harnesses trapping me in the driver's seat, forgetting completely about my keys, not that it mattered anyway. I made a move to open the drivers door, and as soon as it hinged out ever so slightly, the man behind the chase ran up and slammed it shut, kinking my wrist back.

"SIT down!"

Oh shit. This is it. Everything is going to come crashing down on me at this very moment. All the bounty I've attained, the Cost to State I've racked up, the countless number of infractions I've caused.

Yep. I had one hell of a clean rap sheet to support my future court hearing. Can't wait for the newspaper headlines " _Fugitive Street Racer Faces Trial for Limitless List of Infractions"_

Fun.

"...How ya been?"

Yeah…... My heat level within the area made it so any and all safe spots were compromised ever since Mia had been the weasel behind my orchestrated downfall. Forced to flee back home where police activity is minimal and my wanted level may as well be non-existent.

So I'm doing great, thanks for asking.

"It's time to settle a little score from Rockport, you think?"

I suppose I had unpaid debts elsewhere besides home. Although in those cases I thoroughly thought I could outrun my problems. I guess not now. In my mini delusional state, I heard the sound of 2 engines roll up. I made one out to be a Jaguar XKR, and the other sounded like a Lambo V10, but I couldn't make out the make and model of the car; must've been a new release. 2 men in suits stepped out of the Jag, and the other was a face I never thought I'd see again.

Darius.

He's here to bail me out again. Great, another mistake to tack onto the bulletin board of fuck ups from the past. While this technically IS Silverton, no way he'd come up here for a cop chase and a bit of noise, unless he knew it was me, or someone else. He approached my assailant with a calm demeanor and relaxed posture, taking off his shades and scoffing in disbelief at the whole scenario. I found it confusing at first.

"I DON'T remember asking for your help, Croc."

"What makes you think you can bounty hunt in Silverton without my approval?"

Oh, so these 2 had history. And he didn't know it was me. At least not yet.

Well, at least some questions were answered. I suppose the former cop gave up his day job, seeing that my fortuitous capture would've been worth more than his current salary. But the sucky part on that end is me knowing he's going to stick around town if I'm staying, and that's a variable I don't need.

"It's Cross."

Ok, and their relationship isn't the greatest. Something to archive for later.

"...And THIS guy is from outta town!" He jerks his hand back, pointing directly at me in the driver's seat.

"Been a long time, kid."

Doesn't he know it. I can see Cross fuming over the events that are unfolding, probably pissed nobody asked him about the bounty he needs to collect. After all, it isn't charity work taking down a guy who single-handedly ran an entire police force through the industrial ridden town of Rockport. I guess he never REALLY recovered from that, his Post Bridge Jump Disorder kicking in.

"What's his bounty?"

God. Fucking. Damnit. Indebted to him yet again. He was going to bail me out. TWICE. How he's able to front the cash I have no idea. But I don't dwell on that, instead focus on Cross. Cross pauses for a sec, and says a number nowhere near my total cumulative bounty. But hey, at least I'm not paying anyone back 10 million dollars.

"A hundred and fifty K."

I'll take it. It's extremely low, probably figuring he can't extort much more from him. Just take what he can get and move along.

"David, take care of this guy."

Cross nods in approval, shaking his fist in pure exaltion as he moves to collect his earnings.

Darius approaches my car slightly, leaning down to peer into my open window. Shades still in hand, smartass smirk still plastered on his face. He knew I was cornered; he was always good at manipulating the playing field to which I CAN'T really fault him for. He had a knack for gaining the upper hand on any and everything, and it garnered him his wealth. Because of all the back pocket cash, I got my shot at making a name for myself.

"So…...that's what you've been up to?"

Give or take. I've only travelled cross country, nailed magazine covers, and had my trust ripped in half by someone who I thought I could hold faith in; all in separate towns. Yeah, nothing too serious.

Just then he flicks his head up, and looks in the direction of yet another car approaching. It's supercharged, definitely a V8, and it doesn't sound like redline is too high either. It pulls up next to the aftermath, and I see a kitted out Ford GT. I figure this is HIS boss, the one who calls his shots. I couldn't have been more wrong, although I sincerely wished I was.

"Nikki. This should be interesting."

It was her, and she's definitely changed. No longer were the bangs, instead a long, tight ponytail held up in the back. The casual baggy T-shirt and hotpants were replaced by a blue tank and beige shorts. All wrapped up in a leather overcoat with a callsign on the shoulder. Military? No way. Maybe an enforcer for a crew? That sounds more like her.

Although those contradict her personality. Nikki never fared well under pressure, evident at the race the night I took off. If she were to take on the role of an enforcer, that means her little girl personality had matured. And something told me the woman in front of me wasn't exactly keen on my arrival. Don't believe me? Look at her momentary pause as she opens the door, locks eyes with me, and stomps over to my side in a half-run, shouting profanities.

"How dare you show your face here!"

I flinched at her words. I hadn't done anything worthy of that, did I? Was there something I missed? She was coming closer, and I finally decided to face the music and step out of the car. Flexing my sore muscles under my signature leather jacket. That impact really winded me, and standing made it much worse.

Just in time, Darius swoops in and picks Nikki up by the waist and restrains her from whooping my ass; which I'm aware she is perfectly capable of doing.

"Let GO of me!"

"Woah woah woah, control yourself"

Nikki finally calmed down and began seething a few feet behind Darius, albeit very reluctantly, with folded arms and face locked towards the pavement. Eye contact after all this time apart isn't really fairing her well. Just then, Cross fires up his 'Vette, and peels off in the opposite direction, dodging the road signs I had moved. I did stifle a laugh seeing him knock over a road sign in the distance on his ascent up the hill. Once my little reverie was interrupted, Darius began once again;

"I still don't know what happened the night you took off, but I do know you're into me now for some serious cash." He paused for a sec, formulating a plan for me I'm sure. "Things have been getting a little too close for comfort around here with all these crews battling for new territory. I think I could use someone with your skills to help me out."

Yup I knew exactly where this was going. No transaction between Darius left out a condition, or a guilt trip into making you stick around. This time around was no exception.

"The way I see things, I've bailed you out of a serious jam twice now….time for you to return the favor." I listen intently to his proposition, but I can't help but sneak glances towards Nikki. Something isn't sitting quite right and I don't know what it is. Was she mad I never contracted her? Did something happen after the race I wasn't there to witness. I won't know.

"Nikki, what do you say you show your old friend the ropes?" Well there goes any sense of serenity in this scenario

And as she marches up on his left side…."You've gotta be joking right?" Yeah she was NOT having any part of me voluntarily.

"You got a better idea? Then lets get 'em started, right away."

After that, Darius had me extremely shook, and knew he had me trapped. He kissed Nikki. So now I have another mystery solved, albeit only partially. My emotions went haywire. My mouth hung agape, I tried getting in a single word, after a prolonging of pure silence. I couldn't seem to move, that one singular motion wrapped my body and my motor functions in paralysis and time seemed to stop. She seemed to enjoy my writhing as well, a very faint smirk appearing on her face.

"Don't disappoint, not again."


	3. Chapter 3: Shock From Down Under

_This chapter include my own OC exposition as to how Tanner viewed the beginning races from each game . I focus more on how he got the M3 GTR, seeing as it is remarked as a hero car all the time, and played a big part on how the campaign was shaped. At the very end, I'll be asking those who read a question. 1 answer is all it takes. Hope you enjoy.  
_

* * *

 _"_ _Don't disappoint, not again."_

And just like that, he was off towards the inner city. I was back in town for the long haul. My reputations, and my relationships need serious buffing back up. I thought back to Rockport and everything seemed Deja Vu. Losing my ride, starting with nothing, working my way back up. What got me the most was the whole territory ordeal; sure the 4 major crews held down their ends of the city for years on end, and now all of the sudden some 5-6 crews start deciding they want a slice? I didn't dwell on it. With no real sense of choice or options, I follow Nikki into her GT, and we proceed down the rest of the canyon into Silverton, it being Darius's territory, nobody would impede.

On the ride down, for the first time since I initially left Palmont had I uttered a singular word. It felt so foreign to hear my voice again, but changes had to be made.

"Nikki…." I began, but that's all she would let me say, as she interrupted and erupted on the spot at the mention of her name.

"Day one back in town and you're already trying to make small talk like we're best buddies, huh? Don't hold your breath, Tanner. Every crew in the city hasn't forgot that night down in the industrial yard. You NARC'd the entire race, and played it off as a scared racer boy, with an exit at the ready! It was no wonder you were the only one who got out. Half the spectators were detained just being on the scene."

She finally exhaled and slit her eyes towards the road, refusing to make eye contact with me. "Darius told me everything, and everything added up. So go ahead, formulate a story that contradicts mine, with evidence, and we'll see how conversations go from then on."

"Until then, you sit down, you shut up and you follow my instructions."

Having never really said much, and absorbing all the pure hatred and disdain from years prior to heart, hearing Nikki come out with all this was a blow directly into my feelings, and I almost let flow a dam of a emotions I've held up with weak links since from Olympic City to now. I emitted a deep sigh and just sat in silence, not wanting to cause another event. I drifted off to sleep for a bit, arm on the window, hand on head. The events of today and my aching muscles deteriorating my mental and emotional states.

* * *

 _Day 1 in Olympic City. A race beginning in the heart of Downtown saw a total of 4 cars on the line. One in particular was the Vortex kitted out Acura Integra, the driver behind the wheel stoic, and ready for the signal to launch. Beside him was an Eclipse GSX, a Celica GT-S, and a Supra, fully decked out in kits, lights, and most importantly under the hood aftermarket. This was the peak point of the import/tuner revolution that spawned from U.S sanctioned docks and seaports years earlier. If it wasn't an inline 4, or it was strictly Japanese branded, nobody wanted to touch it. The concrete walls of the surrounding building reverberated the noise of the crowd, and the crowded engine bays put out on display. This race, would be unlike any other. It took no longer than a minute of confirming no police presence, redirecting traffic, and purging the air from the NOS tanks to get the ball rolling. She raised up her hands, fingertips grazing the horizon from the point of view of those inside the cockpit. As her limbs and fingers descended, the throttle and clutch pedals switched positions, and the transmission found itself gated in 1st gear with RPM's gliding well past redline. In the blink of an eye, all contenders bolted off the starting block..._

 _...Bayview County, a lot more open and acculturated place than I've ever been. SUV's Muscle cars, even some exotics dominate the racing scene on the west coast. Underground racing leagues, airport drags, sprints across towns. This area had it all. After boarding off the airport terminal, my eyes cast upon a green figure in the distance. Curiously, I approach it, and the the closer I get the more detail my peripherals catch. It was a breathtaking sight. A wide body kitted out Nissan 350z. Carbon hood, purple dragon tribal decal, even a wing to set the stance in place. I tried the remote unlock, and sure enough, there was my taxi; in the flesh. The VQ35 growled to life under my instruction, and with that, I peeled out of airport parking with my ass end sideways into the new. After stalling it out what seemed like 5 times, I got used to the deadzone in the clutch, and was able to start shifting and rev matching with ease. Time to get acquainted with the town._

 _...It took roughly about a week to travel cross country back to the center of Tri-State area from Bayview. Although having the option to go back home to Palmont, I didn't feel I was ready. Something seemed…..incomplete. I couldn't hit the nail on the head and figure out what was holding me back. As I kept seeing signs entering Rockport, there was no going back, another new adventure to embark on. This was the time I had collected a Nissan Skyline GT-R from my wealth and riches back in Bayview, and it came in handy. Passing through smaller towns nearing my destination, I stopped and drove around a few of them. As I did so, I saw the front end of a BMW M3 sitting in a dusty abandoned-looking shed. It was considerably wider than most M3's are accustomed to. Having a tarp draped over the front of it, I tore it off, revealing a 1 of 10 homologation race car, bred for slick asphalt and top end.; a GT-R. Not just any GT-R, but an M3. A BMW of all things._

 _From the shack behind the shack, a man dressed in a greasy-stained sweatshirt and sweatpants came out front. Seemingly out of the thin air, appeared a loaded Glock-19 semi, in the hand of the man in front of me._

" _Get lost, punk. You aren't stealing this one from me. Over my dead body. Literally."_

 _I knew I could easily take down his frail figure and leap off with the keys, but I also knew better than that. This was still the time I pretended being mute, and pointed to the car behind him and held up my wallet. I had to have that car. It had such a polarizing immersion to it. Refined, but rugged. Slick, but streetwise. Road car, but for the track. Surrendering his weapon, he collapsed to the floor; I caught him before his skull decided to have a friendly greeting with the concrete._

" _My entire life savings were poured into this car. Of course me being on the teetering edge of life and death, this car right here served as my insurance policy, with last month being the last I could pay for it. 3 people have tried swindling her from out underneath me. I want to know you'll take good care of her. To give her life out on the open road that I couldn't. Please, tell me you can do so."_

 _He broke into a coughing fit, and I felt my heart drop at the sight of him. I had the power and the wealth to give him a finer lease on life. I wanted so desperately to be the benefactor he internally wished for, but at the same time I wanted his car, and felt guilty for splitting my desire on such a petty investment. That being said, I held up a stack of 150,000$ and motioned for him to hop in my car. Confusion clouded his face, but he showed no signs of resentment. It took not even 25 minutes to pull up to a local hospital and have him admitted. 3 days and time in the waiting room was all it took for him to come out looking years younger. He came up and gave me a hug, and sobbed into my shoulder. We exited the hospital together, and he held up the keys to his car. I was ecstatic to be able to provide service to a man in desperate need. As we returned back into his driveway, he motioned for me to talk to him one last time._

" _You did for me what the government couldn't be bothered to deal with, and did it without resentment. You got a good heart kid, and I know about your whole Bayview ordeal, this old man has a few connections out on the westside. I'm willing to bet you've met my granddaughter Rachel? Seeing the way you've driven and outmaneuvered the competition gives me no regret in handing you my girl. I hope whatever you decide to do with her, you make it fast, you make it reckless, and you report back to me; I want to hear how she does for you. Good luck out there kid, give 'em hell."_

 _I smiled broadly at him, and with that, I fired up the 4.4L V8, and drove my way out of there, leaving the keys to my Skyline and the car there for him to enjoy. He deserved it._

 _Finding a safe haven from cops, I ordered a racing widebody it from the manufacturer itself, and performance parts for the motor, in addition to removing the restrictor plates and opening up the diameter of the all the intake and exhaust inlets. Once my aerodynamics and power output were sorted, with the help of a few more parts, It was time to design her._

 _I settled on a wave-esc design. A light-steel colored paint scheme with midnight blue wavy accents adorning the hood, sides, hood and trunk; I got to work. Masking every open crevice and orifice like a college student with severe OCD. Every pass with the brush I made sure was dead even. And pinstriping the finer edges of the vinyl took all of my concentration, but the final product was totally worth it. My screamin' demon. My Mona Lisa._

 _My renegade. My champion. My partner._

 _Entering Rockport City within the confines of my new furbished M3 was such a drone. Traffic wouldn't let up and I had no place to open up the throttle. I came around a 2 lane split and passed a lighthouse on the left. In my rear view I hear what sounded like a Rotary on my left side. As it pulls up, I see none other than a female behind the wheel. Curly blonde hair, a rounded face, and a whole lot of smile. She nodded to me, downshifted the rotary car and flew ahead, kicking up smoke in the process. Unfamiliar with the area, I played it safe and kept my distance behind her. Soon enough we entered what looked to have been Downtown. Approaching a red light, she must've seen something I didn't because she slammed on the brakes hard. I did the same, and simultaneously, a Corvette speed over from the opposite ends and powerslides in front of our cars. The girl got away, but I was pinned._

* * *

I was abruptly woken from my stupor when Nikki's GT crested the cobblestone path into a high end dealership. She circled around with her nose pointing at the entrance, probably hoping to make a quick exit. Of course that led 3 sets of headlights to be shone directly into my eyes as I stepped out of the low-hanging supercar.

A big guy with a mullet, chops, and an orange Hawaiian shirt came running out from behind one of the cars, him probably being the one who arranged them out here.

"Thanks for waiting up" If that long winded sigh didn't encapture her mood perfectly. I'd be hard pressed to find what would.

"Yeah, yeah, sure...yeah. So uhhh…..who's the third wheel…?"

"Doesn't matter." She glances over her shoulder at me. Darius made all these cars available to you. Pick one, whichever one you want."

"Hey um…..if there's 3 do I get one? I-I mean I don't care which one although I am partial to the one with the sweet rims." I suppose this guy is more along the lines of busboy for the crew. Underappreciated, but he still hangs around to be a part of something. I feel for the guy.

"Why don't you just make sure the tanks are filled." As if on cue, my suspicions were confirmed.

"….That's great... I'M THE MONKEY." And with that, he stomps off, clearly pissed. But Nikki held such a smug grin, almost as if this got her off. To see the misfortune and suffering of others. Now I really began to think what 3 years away did to her.

Pick one, lets get this over with." With agitation present in her tone, I didn't want to push her buttons. So I swiftly inspected each and every car.

I began my investigation with the classic '69 Camaro SS. Off the bat, I knew cornering capability boiled down to entering each and every bend sideways, but the amount of countersteer and angle would make the difference between a clean exit, and fishtailing onto the sidewalk, running the lines wide. What it lacks in swift motion, it makes up for in low-end torque and burly V8 Americana. Easy car for recovery. If I chose a pursuit vehicle, this would be my tank of choice. The other 2 are fragile non-domestics, and would crumple under contact.

Option 2 comes in the form of an Italian body, an Alfa Romeo Brera. It being front engine-front drive, left much to be desired in the cornering department, though it does fair substantially better than the Camaro would. Decent power to weight, finding torque and climbing the RPM's in the mid-high range of the tachometer. This would have be driven at top end for its statistics to really shine through. Looking past everything else, this car essentially stands as middle ground between my 2 options. Power and handling statistics plop in dead center of its 2 rivals.

Finally I round off to the Mazda RX-8. Straight away I thought to the Bushido crew leader, and his RX-7. I knew torque was an issue, seeing as it is a 1.3, and it is no conventional internal combustion engine. Cornering capability ran off the charts, with its low center of gravity and significantly advantageous redline of 9,000; It was bred for cornering. Now the RX-8 would more than likely follow that same line of statistic, factoring in its bulgy, rounded off shape. To get the most out of this car would be to begin in the city, not alot of room to pick up ground in the compacted city streets. Modification is a must, and would need to be as soon as possible.

So. What's it gonna be?


	4. Chapter 4: Rethreading the Untwined Rope

**_Hey everyone who's been following. First of all:_**

 ** _Big thank you for sticking around if you did so. I've been currently working on fixing up my daily driver as it keeps breaking down on me, and I've allotted time to get it completed. Secondly, my high school education is getting WAY in the way, but I'm trying to pass through it while continuing the story._**

 ** _Now this chapter may seem a bit lame as a flashback, and reading back through it I thought it was well before publishing. But, I'm deciding to let you all read through and provide me with feedback._**

 ** _As well, the training session with Nikki, I haven't seen covered in depth before; and for good reason. You can't really implement detail into such a scripted and emotionless gameplay mechanic. But I tried a bit._**

 ** _I'm sorry for the wait, and hopefully you aren't disappointed by the 4th installment of Debts Left Unpaid. First person Need For Speed really is tricky, considering the protagonist doesn't speak at all._**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

* * *

 _The first year of Texas 2K; The strip down at Baytown, Texas saw cars of all varieties turn up. The tuning and import scene phenomenon had died down, and the revitalization of muscle cars on fat slicks and wheelie bars started to trickle back in. One car in particular wasn't modified like all the rest, and seemed totally disadvantageous to even race. It was a '69 Camaro SS. Matte black exterior finish with some subtle ghostly camo adorning the sides. Lowenhart LDR rims were not chromed, but forged from magnesium and finished in the same coat the chassis was. Fender flares housed the meaty 325/40/18 wheels taking refuge on each side. Topping it all off was the screamin' eagle V8 up front; but this was no ordinary V8. 926hp and ass-loads of torque from the 6,400 RPM redline propel the beast to a 3.8 second 0-60 time. I saw the domestic roll behind the gradually increasing line of cars, and snuck behind the guards keeping spectators off the strip. I was spotted by the guy driving the Camaro, and he ushered me over through the window. I ducked, dived, and weaved around track officials and team members scattered behind and around the burnout box. He motioned me around to the passenger side door, and without hesitation I threw it open and slammed it shut. Taking a look around the cockpit, the dash and wheel were flocked in Alcantara, the non-necessities were stripped out and replaced with 2 buckets and a HANS device atop the drivers side headrest._

 _He must've caught my gaze, as he handed me a plain white helmet, already tying his neck strap and preparing to send it down the ¼ mile. I followed suit and giddily waited for what was to come. My teenage self couldn't contain my ecstatisicity and joy being able to properly experience a fully-built road machine. Something about its tough face and commanding stance was what entranced me over all the others. Sure, stuffing Mickey Thompson drag slicks on the rear axle and jerryrigging a parachute to the trunk was effective and slapped down some solid passes, but that style of creation was all too common ever since the inception of drag racing began. Seeing a car of the same assembly line run an entirely different and bizarre setup compared to the masses was fascinating in my eyes. Having only a 1.8 1st gen Miata, the experience was bound to blow me away._

 _Accelerating up to 5mph onto the burnout box foreshadowed the kind of raw power and driver focus I were to witness. The faint whine of the supercharger was transferred through the decommissioned ventilation cavities. Clutch depressed, tachometer needle hitting redline, and balancing out the gas and brake didn't pave way; it took the pavement AWAY. Due to the high levels of friction from the speed of the back wheels, a ⅜ inch indent in the asphalt was the Camaro's parting gift to the track clean-up crew and spectators. The tree dividing both lanes had the 4 pairs of red lights illuminated as the front facia of both the Camaro and his competitor lined up at the mark._

 _Revving. The tree stood a blood red._

 _Maintaining launch RPM. In less than a second the tree was now yellow._

 _All hell broke loose. The back end of each car broke traction, 1st gear catapulting each of the contenders off the starting block as the tree turned green. Inertia tossed my head to the back of the headrest with some minor whiplash. The torque was blistering! Off the block the opponent gathered an early lead, about 2 cars ahead of my driver. 2nd gear saw him catching up ever so slightly. He then shifted into 3rd, triggering his 150 dry fog shot of NOS and blazing by the opponent and still climbing in speed on the way towards the end. 140. 160. 170. 175. And finally crossing the line at an even 180 with a clocked in time of 8.9._

 _I was stunned beyond the English vocabulary would allow me to express. My jaw was agape with the shock and awe of such a thrill, and from a piece of metal from 50 years ago no less._

* * *

Yep. My mind was definitely made up. Big block Chevy with a big bad attitude was mine to domesticate, and I'm gonna have one hell of a time doing it. The coil packs provided the ignition spark sent to the spark plugs as soon as I turned the key. All 396 cubic inches of throaty patriotism flooded my ears and I was ready to conquer Palmont a 2nd time over. This was the night of redemption.

Nikki seemed to be as thrilled as I was; but more than likely for the sake of me getting the hell out of that parking lot. I pulled out onto the street, but Nikki didn't seem to follow me. I stuck out the nose of my American broad into the street and see 3 cars lined up, with a 4th spot with my name on it. I pulled up parallel to an RX-8, a Brera and another Camaro and redlined my tachometer, letting them know I was their 4th.

Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun.

My phone on the passenger seat vibrated, and flipping it open was a text message. Guess this is my outlet of communication with Nikki from here on. It's probably for the better she doesn't take out my jugular with those damn heels. I'm pretty happy with my skin, thank you.

* * *

 **FROM** : _Nikki_

 **SUBJECT** : _Let's make this interesting._

 **MESSAGE TEXT** :

↑ " _Let's make this a bit more interesting. I've called in a couple of my Friends who are going to race around the track with you. Please, don't embarrass yourself."_

* * *

Just the kind of confidence boost I needed today. Glad to know she still cares.

A screen within my console lit up with a countdown timer. Counting down from 3-2-1, and I was off. Not having my RPM's in the green zone, I over-revved the motor and spun the back wheels off the start, while my opponents got off at a fair better initial pace than I. Finally regaining traction after keeping the pedal down through gears 1 & 2, I now had to keep up and pass the pack of 3. The first lap consisted of me running each corner wide and overcompensating on the oversteer. Learning the course we'll call it.

2nd lap comes around and I downshift and fishtail accordingly to nail the apex on corner 1. Using the weight of the car I break traction lightly rolling through a long left sweeper, my foot never once letting off the gas. These maneuvers were enough to move me back up behind the opposition halfway through lap 2. I spot an opening between the housing and a fountain; archived information for lap 3. Using the brawny and burly torque and power on the straightaways saw me approaching and passing both the RX-8 and the Brera before the beginning of lap 3.

The Camaro in front of me definitely knew his ride, and how to tame that beast of a machine underneath his seat. Mimicking the techniques and approaches of lap 2, I inch ever so closer to the Camaro in front until I'm directly centered behind his rear bumper. A pedestrian car moves into the oncoming lane from one of the shopping districts and runs through my line into the next corner. , instead of the handbrake, I shift the weight of the car forward, making sure all the weight is off the back tires. Depressing the clutch pedal and swinging the steering wheel to the right has my back end face the opposite way as I glide around the vehicle on the left side. Now came the handbrake and I swing my car back around, losing a fair bit of momentum, but still keeping pace behind the leader.

Coming up was the shortcut through the fountain I scoped out a lap prior, and took that opening to pass the other Camaro as the final stretch of asphalt came between me and the finish line. Foot to the floor, I passed the 2 parallel signal flares in 1st place, and man did my first race back feel good.

Rounding back to the dealership lot I see Nikki and the big looking guy lined up outside, her GT, and his decked out Chrysler 300 doing donuts in front of her. I pull up on the far left and wait for the big guy's little charade to end so I can get going on my next 'mission'. So I got the impression my win didn't woo her, and honestly thinking back neither did it to me.

Once again I was the bolt-on wonder boy looking to get smoked.

"Neville, c'mon I don't got time for this"

So Neville. Fitting name I suppose. No time to dwell on it, as he finished one more donut and reversed parallel to me and Nikki. He rolled down his window and looked at me.

"Look, Nikki's good just….listen to her. And I'll stick around and I'll help out and make sure she's not too hard on you."

He finished it off with a childishly smug grin and looked dead ahead. About a minute went by and Nikki called my phone. I didn't want to push anymore buttons, so I picked up, and remained stoic and silent. This seemed to please her, as she bolted off the makeshift starting block and said.

"Ok, c'mon let's just get this over with" She said with such exasperation, I thought the level of melancholy mood might just make the weight of my car sink down on its shocks.

"So, crews are a big part of building a rep in this city-" As if I forgot. I always ran solo, never really having the technique nor talent to shift my way into a big named crew. "-You can bring a wingman into a lot of the races and believe me, you're gonna want to."

This piece of info was news to me. I had initially assumed a single representative from each crew would be elected in to race. So I can race alongside somebody I know? Tough luck, seeing as I'm a dead and barren newcomer to the scene, and I'm straight in doubting that nobody is going to pick me up, or vice versa.

"There's basically 3 different skills you're gonna see. Some drivers are Blockers, others are Drafters and there's scouts. Right now I'll be your wingman just to show ya. Neville's gonna help out, be your competition for a few laps."

I guess practice makes perfect, so none of this really can hurt. Embarrass myself; definitely a possibility, but I'll just wing it from here.

"First, you need to know how to tell your wingman know when it's time to work. They'll just race until you tell them to do more. Try it now."

As if on cue, that LCD display lit up with a green pulsating diamond with a ring around it. I tapped it, and it illuminated further, supposing it was activated and I did the job correctly.

"That's it, you got it! Remember, it works the same for Blockers and Drafters, but Scouts are working for you pretty much all the time."

Enthusiasm that I did it correctly, or enthusiasm spawned by her lack of having to teach me more than required. Either way, I was decently pleased so far with the whole 'crew racing' aspect of town.

"Ok. Blockers are like cruise missiles on the road. They don't mind to smash their rides to knock your competition off the track. Let me show you."

I waited for Nikki to take action as we progressed further down the makeshift circuit. However, she informed me I had to command her to go after Neville with a pretty blunt, "Lemme know when you want me to block Neville."

I gave the command shortly afterwards. Sparing no hesitation, Nikki hit the NOS and sped up quickly behind Neville, before P.I. him in the left rear quarter panel, causing a spinout.

Neville didn't seem to bothered by this action, as he just exclaimed, "Hey, mind my paint!" and sat there with a toothy grin on his mug. I had the sneaking suspicion he too acted as a blocker, and could potentially be my wingman on my way up to the top. More information to store for a later date; If I'm going to piece together 3 years of absence in a town that more than likely denounces my arrival, I'll need help.

"That's it! See how that block worked?"

My long etched silence seemed to be the answer Nikki was looking for, so without wasting time she moved me on to Drafting.

"Drafters? They're speed demons. 2 cars travelling in a line are faster than 1. So you gotta get behind them and stay there for a few seconds. You'll get a boost of speed and when you pull out of the draft, you'll slingshot up ahead."

This wasn't any new info to me. My time in Rockport had me drafting countless times for the last second finishes or the early lap 1 leads. The only difference here is having someone willing to draft you, whereas beforehand if anyone caught a glimpse of your headlights in the rearview, the back end would swivel and slide to prevent drafting.

Okay! Just say when and we'll draft."

Once again the marker on my LCD lit up on queue. I tapped it and it turned gray again as it had initially. In doing so, Nikki seemed to have gotten my message, and slowed down and had me trail her. I visualized her car within a wind tunnel; air moving around the flowing shape of the GT and behind me for me to slice through. Blue wisps of standing air particles guided my line behind Nikki to be near picture perfect. I could definitely feel a sagging weight lift itself as the drag coefficient had been reduced and I could easily pick up more speed.

I'm going out on a limb and saying the first chance I come upon a drafter; I'm taking it. This is too beneficial a crew stat to pass up.

"Thats it!" "Now the last of the 3 types are Scouts, and Scouts are like having eyes everywhere. As soon as the race starts, they will find every back alley, side street, or any kind of route that saves you time. Let's give it a try, see if you can keep up."

I already deciphered that Scouts would be lowest priority in shaping a crew. Having someone scope out shortcuts for me allows my opponents to mimic my line and negate whatever increase in distance I would've made otherwise. Not only that, but I find myself handy in the vision department as is, not really needing a 2nd pair of eyes to watch for me. Regardless, I archived the info for a later date. (Although I doubt I'll need it.)

Just as I suspected upon activating Nikki's Scout perk, she herself didn't even know where a shortcut was, and had me slow down with her in order to find one. Driving at full speed you aren't allowed time to breath, same application for shortcuts. I knew immediately in addition to my previous notes, Scouts would become more of a hindrance than a hero, and I'd more than likely axe one out of a list of potentials later on. After what seemed like forever Nikki found a shortcut, although given the amount of time it took we'd probably be a lap down if this was a recurring circuit race.

Once we exited the 'shortcut' I narrowly avoided Neville just sitting duck in the same spot he spun out in earlier. Heart attack and insurance issues avoided I pursued after Nikki once more so the call connection wouldn't static out.

"You wanna keep in mind that your wingman will only work for a limited time. Once they're drained, they'll stop helping out but they will stay with you and build back up until they're ready to do their thing again….And wingmen are like NOS. Use them too early in the race they won' be ready for when you need it the most."

As if to prove a point, Nikki toggled the NOS for a brief moment.

I found myself rather confused at the whole 'limited time' detail. I get that street racing as a whole is a taxing sport. Perception, flawless car control, a peeled eye for cops; it does a lot to a body. But in addition to all this, would finding a shortcut or having someone draft off you be that much of a leech to their driving abilities? I didn't dwell on it, and would practice the ins-and-outs at a later time.

"Ok, now you got the basics, time to take it out on the street."

It was about. Fuckin. Time. I guess in hindsight the experience wasn't terrible. As much as I hate to possess ignorance I had learned a few tidbits of both useful and useless information. No matter though, I felt I did well with it, and Nikki didn't seem to want to tear me a new asshole in this ghetto training exercise. With nobody else around. At all.

"There! That's all you need to get started" And just when I felt I was doing some form of good…..

"I'm done wasting my time on you. Later, Neville." With that she pulls a J-turn, keeping wheelspin rolling until she peels off Southbound out towards Downtown.

And there goes my minimally self inflated ego, reduced to nothing more than a broken fragment I tried holding in place. Her cynicism was so unlike her old character. 3 years ago Nikki wouldn't so much as approach anyone with a hint of malice. Now she looks as though war has been etched into her cerebrum and controlling her entire body. I'd put down cash on the notion she'd whip out a piece and hit be square between the eyes if I so much as pranked her. I slumped down a bit and sighed the heaviest I had in days. Not just from physical exhausting; but mentally as well.

My crown jewel BMW wrecked in evading Cross. Darius bailing me out of a jam for a second time, tacking onto an already sky-high bill to pay. Then Nikki comes along and tries to dismantle me and my arrogance, and ontop of that proving her dominance and independence. I just wanted to roll up my windows and take a snooze in my car right then and there. I was so exhausted and done with these past hours.

But fate being a total bitch today, before morning hit and the sun rose I seemed to have more of a laundry list to do before I slack off.

Neville rolled up close to my window and was so anxious about something. He was a jittery mess, and I couldn't decline an offer to a guy willing to back up my 1-man crusade in redemption. Besides, he did seem friendly enough.

"Well. I guess it's just you and me. Let's go find some trouble."


	5. Chapter 5 : Shattered Reflections

**_Thanks to everybody who's sticking with this story through my spaced out and sporadic updates. Still some minor real world issues I'm taking care of at the moment that prevents me from pumping this out faster. 2nd Longest chapter I've written thus far and I'll be honest; It's not that great in my opinion._**

 ** _Now I have a few questions to improve the content of the story. Do you guys prefer more focus on racing, character interaction, or detailed flashbacks-or all 3 if you really are into that. Longer or shorter chapters? Branching out from the main game lore and improvising? Let me know! I had someone ask me when the Nikki romance comes in. I can either do that the same way EA did with the game, or I can expand upon that too: choice is yours._**

 ** _And there will be an authors note partway down asking for your input for the crew. I want my audience to be the driving force behind the story._**

 ** _Regardless though here's the 5th chapter to the story._**

* * *

"Well. I guess it's just you and me. Let's go find some trouble."

A millisecond after 'trouble' left his lips, he got on the gas and brake and started a burnout to heat up the tires before launching off. I'd swear at this point the nylon beads under that vulcanized rubber were wearing WAY thin, and those tires have reached their punishment maximum. But who was I to judge anything, right? Big boy can handle his horsepower.

I followed him out of the tiny little pocket of San Juan in Silverton onto the main crew territory. Neville took the nearest on-ramp to the expressway and I followed right behind him. As I merged onto the barren highway once I got up to speed, a wave of memories and emotions came flooding back as I cruised along.

I glanced to my right, and saw a visualization of the Supra I drove heading in the opposite direction out of town 3 years back, pretty sure I'm developing dementia from lack of sleep. I glanced behind me in my sideview mirror and it was gone. Just as abruptly as I left everything here the first time around. I tried so desperately hard to come back and be with my family. With my friends.

With Nikki.

Nikki. She was-no, IS the embodiment of perfection. A heaven-sent angel with the dimensions to rival catwalk models. Her face was so perfectly sculpted. Nose with a fine point that curved back inwards at the very tip. Blemish-free canvas of a face with a healthy tan skin tone and the mouth that was never seen within an ounce of a sad place. Always smiling.

I cast my eyes downward to see the most gorgeous hourglass figure on any female to date. Of course it wasn't my main reason for attraction, but it moved the process along a bit moreso. And what's a guy without mentioning a girl's ass? Call me a material infatuate, but that little detail makes it all the more worthwile. Especially when you get teased a bit with it. All-in-all, I couldn't ask for anything more. She was perfect, and I felt perfect with her.

Apart from physical lust, I had a thing for her mechanical side. She was the girl growing up in middle school to chase me down to the garage after school to see who got the dirtiest underneath a car first. Somehow she came out with a greasy white t-shirt everytime, in record time may I add. Her attitude was so carefree, so 'fuck-off-if-you-don't-like-it'. There wasn't any guy who could take her down, or take her out. She was mine, and I was loving every moment of it.

She was my balance. My Porsche, with everything in just the right spot. Then the crew battle happened, and I lost her. All because of a set-up. Everything came crashing down like a Mustang with a live rear end leaving a car meet.

* * *

 _It was too quick, no time to pass judgement or make a call. It was eat or be eaten, and to my misfortune, Nikki was eaten by the pavement, with a cop ontop to add insult to injury. I was in tears the entire way out, knowing I had to leave her behind. At the time I wasn't aware I couldn't go back, but just the separation anxiety in a sting operation like that sent me and my emotional state over the redline and threw a rod. When Darius had told me I wasn't able to just go to the safe house and I had to skip town, I was devastated. He said to break off all communication so the cops didn't come sniffing around for another reason to land an innocent in jail. I was so reluctant to do anything at that point , I reached my internal limit where I put the Supra in neutral and coasted with idling revs as my speedometer gradually decreased from 150 down to 0. Once I stopped, in a fit of rage I hollered at the top of my lungs, punching a hole through the left side of my T-top roof, denting the surrounding crater along with it. The sheer frustration radiated off me in waves, I felt passing traffic could sense my disdain and resentment towards the world. I sat there in the same spot on the shoulder for what felt like years, trying to figure out a way to go back and not raise the heat. In the end I was left empty, every idea I had brainstormed fell through the floorboards, since I kicked those out as well._

 _I kept trying to decipher the message the cops were relaying through the CB radio I had in the car. I knew from a glance in my sideview that EMP was to blame for the sting when I crossed the line. Of course I find the EMP's that stopped them didn't stop me and somehow I got away. I'm never lucky to begin with, and we're gonna start now; Darwinism the key deciding factor on who flies and who falls? All of the sudden my CB signal cuts short and I'm left with radio static; sabotage? Or if not the case it was dumb luck I couldn't make out the relay of information. Who would've set up a hit on the crew leaders? Why did I get out but nobody else? Who's going to take the fall for the entire thing? Where was Nikki? Darius? Can I have at least ONE question not left open-ended? All that time on the highway shoulder sent me insane. I hung my head low, and glanced back up at the reflection of headlights coming the opposite direction._

 _I glance over to the Northbound side of the highway and notice a Chrysler 300 and an old Camaro side by side. It felt like deja vu. It seemed too familiar. Suddenly, all I see is white, and I feel myself shifting from the confines of my Supra into the Camaro's front seat…._

* * *

….And returned back to reality, Neville on my right side as we exit Silverton and take the expressway through whichever part of town was next. It had been so long, my sense of navigation may as well be as useful as dry-rot tires during a blizzard. For how long that flashback had seemed to drone on for, Neville and I had only covered about 2 miles in total nonstop, not even cresting the edge of Downtown. Mile marker 422 whizzed by in a blink of an eye.

"So you've been gone awhile….you out in Rockport huh?" Neville sparked.

He knew about me before I left? I hardly doubt Nikki gave him a debrief on me, seeing as she straight up treats him like a disposable paper towel half the time. I can't imagine the rumors circling my name are any good if Neville asking is any indication. He seemed almost hesitant to bring up the topic in the first place, as if I would snap at him for intruding on my past. Can't wait for the entirety of the town to pick up on my return and ignite a rumor mill. Another variable that I don't need getting in the way. But this is how the river flows.

"-Man a LOT has changed since you took off. There are tons of crews in this town man, it's crazy!"

And as soon as he mentioned the word 'crazy', we both rounded a right-hander parallel to each other. As soon as there was a split in the highway, 1 sleazy roaming cop in the opposite direction spotted us. He flipped on the sirens, crossed the invisible barrier separating the 2 lanes, and a pursuit was birthed. It's amazing how much information a sideview mirror can provide.

"Look out, cops!"

Thanks genius, actually I was considering turning myself in and calling it a night after seeing the black and whites. I was already foot to the floor with the throttle anyway, 4th gear as my overdrive gear controlling the needle, keeping a steady distance just below the redline on the tachometer, signalling I've reached V-max. The Camaro kept chugging along beautifully, and the Civic Cruiser on my ass end was doing the same; not exactly a desirable position to find yourself in.

And just when I thought it couldn't get worse, another cop running radar in a construction alley joined in and gave me an extra pain in the ass to take care off. Unfortunately, the Camaro isn't exactly what you'd call nimble, and that's both a blessing and a curse. Can't exactly evade a P.I.T maneuver, but can't exactly BE P. either. All of the sudden I find 5 cops centered in my rearview, wondering how the fuck they pop out of nowhere in such a concentrated area. Any other day I'd run them down, wear them out, but I'd injure myself first before that came about.

"Watch this."

Might as well tack that sentence onto the ever expanding list of phrases that scare the living shit out of me. Neville definitely seemed reckless. A 'watch this' from him and the way I saw him earlier, left much to be desired. But to my surprised he took down 2 cops. The first round saw him hitting the brakes and swerving up to the accelerating cruiser, bashing him into the guardrail causing a mid-air flip; nothing more than a crumpled up beer can sailing in the wind. Second car was just a simple, but effective P.I.T maneuver, causing the space behind us to empty out as the backup rolled behind the 3 Cruisers making the total 5 again.

"Yeah!, Who's the coffee grinder baby?"

Oh. I get it now. He was definitely practicing that.

We took separate forks, he took the offramp into what looked like Downtown, whilst I continued on the expressway towards Kempton and the Industrial District. 3 cops followed his route, while the remaining 2 followed mine. I was SO not in the mood for this right now. I drive more erratic as my anger and irritation builds, and the end result isn't looking so great.

"I got your back, I'll lose the heat, stay on the pedal!"

Gee, thanks Neville. Glad to know someone of such a high caliber of skill is watching my back. I knew my top speed wouldn't cut it on the highways, and Downtown was too congested and too tight knit to make evasive maneuvers. I could identify a pursuit breaker in any one of the 4 major areas, but frame damage and paint scratches were not on the list tonight; or this morning, I've lost track.

Kempton was the best option, and if I remember correctly, the river outflow had some weeds and dense shrubbery and blocked off an unseen tunnel unless I ran through - I've got my plan.

I led the cops down the off ramp and let off the accelerator. They caught right up to me before the corner approached, and as such I drifted through the turn, leaving the officers in pursuit either understeering and plowing the guardrail, or scraping their sideview mirrors and doors on the concrete barriers parallel to the edges of the asphalt. This left me with only 2 more cops left before I finally made it into Kempton. Utilizing the industrial playground and its choppy road surface, my low profile tires glided over potholes and superficial imperfections while my pursuers are seen swerving in and out of the lane in order not to bust a flat.

I found myself gliding along the boardwalk, keeping my engine noise loud so the pedestrians could hear my approach. My 50 year old tires began losing precious traction on the slick boardwalk, and I had to run my lines to the very outside, almost clipping a side store or tumbling into the bay. Once the exit to the boardwalk had been reached, I scoped out a tire shop in the distance, and set my sites on the pillars supporting its mascot. Paintjob be damned at this point, I was growing anxious. Seconds flew by, as did the distance. My pursuers were trailing behind, but they'd stop for the copious amounts of damage anyway. For good measure I downshifted, maximizing the amount of kinetic force the car had, and plowed into the erected steel columns, causing the entire platform behind me to collapse, as well as the big tire, which was now just rolling down the road behind me.

As the Doppler effect and epileptic series of lights diminished in the wake of my destruction, I pulled over and finally relaxed. My shit-eating grin never once leaving my giddy face. It felt good to cause trouble again, just like in Rockport. Sure, Olympic City and Bayview were filled with traffic, but cops down there didn't care, or didn't exist.

Law enforcement suffering by my hand was where I felt at home.

My tiny parade of celebration was interrupted by Neville again, somehow. I'm not sure how he knows I'm free and clear, or maybe he doesn't and just sent me a message incase. Nevertheless, I flipped open the Sidekick and opened his text.

* * *

FROM : Neville

SUBJECT : Meet me at the Safe House.

MESSAGE TEXT :

" _Hey, we need to meet up. I've given you coordinates to a Safe House."_

* * *

Most serious line of speech I've gotten from him all night. I was so tired of running around and confining myself to a driver's seat; I had been driving nonstop for 3 days from the edge of Rockport County to the very tip of Carbon County and now I'm already stirring up heat from a car I just got. It appeared his coordinates were centered in on an abandoned machine shop off the side of the expressway in the opposite direction. From my position on the sidewalk, I interrupted the choppy idle from the big burly cams in the Camaro and spun the ass end into a 180 as soon as I hit the gas. Chunks of rubber pasted themselves onto the rear fascia and onto the chrome of the car as I sped off towards what I hoped to be my final destination. The only evidence of me being there was a curved 11.

I weaved in and out of early morning commuter traffic effortlessly on my way to the destination. Up ahead I could've sworn I had seen what looked like a red and black Audi parked across the road. I was a V10 from a Gallardo, that I gathered from the engine idle and revs. For a new car, the design was slick. I ignored the anomaly and ventured into the concrete drive dividing the shop from the road. I put it in park and waited for Neville. You would think having enough time to send me that text he'd have been here by now.

20 minutes rolled by and I was ready to book it. He rolls up in a tattered and bruised 300C with his front bumper barely hanging on by a thread. Dents in every conceivable area, and paint chips and streaks adorning every hinged body panel, it looked like an ancient dug up relic the way it sat. But Neville being Neville, probably payed zero attention to this.

"Darius gave you this safe house. You can use it to fix your car, or chill out when the heat's on. You need a wingman, and it looks like I'm it. Let me show you inside." And with that punctuation he eagerly whipped around and entered the garage first.

As soon as I park under the spotlight, I open the door to seeing him do some tough guy pose and spin in circles, holding a sign above his head that says "Fixer"

Oh yeah. Just the kind of character I needed. Fixing races sounds pretty good, not like I wanted fair play to be a factor anyway.

Once his charade was over, he motioned me over to a document folder with a bunch of photos in them. Apparently I needed a crew name and a crew photo. After sifting through a bunch of tacky photos of icons….. _**A/N: This is the portion of the story where I allow the readers to choose. Anyone who reviews and gives me ideas for names and crew tags I will use within the next chapter of the story. I'll update this section of the story once a decision has been made.**_

Once I had a crew name and photo together, I would've hoped that be it for the night; or morning, at this point my concept of time is skewed more than the vinyl wrap on Neville's Chrysler.

But no, Nikki wanted to witness my suffering for longer. She sent me a voicemail the instant I got finished. I reluctantly wheeled through my total of 2 messages and found hers waiting. I opened it and listened in.

"This whole city is a battleground; all the crews are always fighting over territories. Just check with your map if you wanna see what's going on." With that, I hopped in the driver's seat of the Camaro and lit up the center LCD to look at the map of Carbon County. It looks like crew territory was divided in about the same way as I had originally left. However, more and more small named crews are trying to sideswipe their way in and up the ranks and claim an entire part of the city.

"The minor crews push and pull. You'll see that most of the city is divided up by Kenji's 'Bushido', Wolf's 'TFK', and Angie's '21st Street' crews."

"Your rep...Ok you have no rep…." Well that's enlightening. I guess nobody remembers me. Probably for better than for worse, but the tug at my ego keeps on getting stronger. "...But you win a few races, you'll end up owning an area; and THAT'S what'll build up your rep. Once the crew bosses see you as a threat, They'll probably come looking for you."

"If they challenge you, you got a shot at taking over their turf." And with that, end message.

I waited 5 more minutes for anything else to pop out the shadow and drag me into activity, when nothing came about, I wandered around the shop looking for a place to crash and get some sleep. After 10 MORE minutes of looking I found a couch in the back corner. At this point I'm not picky, so I jumped on and planked mid-air, landing on my stomach and layed there. Black shades in the corners of my vision threatened to move closer together and block my eyesight. I finally gave in to the intangible demand and found myself asleep, hoping tomorrow would see better days.

But we all know there never really exists a "good day"


	6. Chapter 6: A Taste of Whats to Come

**_I'm sorry for the delay in uploading everyone, I know it's been a month and all I have is one chapter to show for it. I've sort of lost a bit of motivation for writing since I haven't been getting feedback from you guys on how to improve the story. So please, please read and review so I can improve the story for you all to read._**

 ** _Also, 500+ views? You guys are amazing! Here's more Debts Left Unpaid for you as a thank you. I hope it's to your satisfaction after waiting so long. There's not much action here, more just build up and exposition for later on. Please provide me with feedback on what kind of story telling you want to see, and how I should name and give an emblem to the Player's crew now.  
_**

 ** _Chapter 6 is up._**

* * *

Approximately 12 hours after my retiring to rest, I stirred up and was greeted by blinding sunlight coming through the hazy and dusty collection of glass windows. I stumble up, sore muscles and aching pains come full swing once I'm conscious enough to feel it all. My clutch leg felt limp and dull, and my arms were on the verge of snapping at the slightest movement. Nevertheless I trudged through the garage hoping this place at least had a fridge. Not like I have any space to complain, but Darius wouldn't leave me out to dry like that.

Right?

After I mutter a faint "fuck it" under my breath, I decide to get in the Camaro and hit it with a detail and a carwash and maybe grab some food too, seeing as my starving self might collapse again. My boots making thunderous contact with the hollow concrete floor, echoing off the adjacent walls. As to be expected as it was more than likely just me here, but the eerie-ness never faded. I opened the metallic door and slipped inside. I forced the key into the ignition slot, clutch down with my right foot this time, which for some reason felt stiffer to decompress than my left foot. Supposing it was just unfamiliar action, I held and let the starter go to work.

Upon my cold start, the shear amount of noise and vibration shook the walls to their core, shrinking down on itself due to the reverb the exhaust gave off. I finally sucked it up and shut the door, cranked down the windows, and stuck in some headphones as I reversed out and was about to merge on the highway. As I sat in the open drive, I scrolled through my phone, deciding what music to play on my way into town. I stopped my finger on _**Wolfmother's "Joker and the Thief"**_ ,smile widely plastered on my face. As soon as I heard the opening guitar riff, I revved the motor a couple of times, Warming up the cams and the crank, ready to shred my way down the expressway.

Oil Temp : Check

Coolant Temp: Check

Thrill Factor : Awaiting Burnout.

Once the percussion hit, foot was matted to the floor, rubber spinning and smoking in my rearview, as I finally launch off sideways into traffic, nearly clipping a red minivan on the front quarter before I shift into 2nd, keeping the wheels spinning and narrowly gliding by with the sidewalls under immense stress. Once traction finally greeted me at the redline of 2nd gear, I sped through the gears of the 4-speed box reaching top speed as I meet the sign to my off-ramp. Because it was mid-day, I wasn't going to take too many risks. My radar hasn't lit up yet and I don't intend for it to. That being said I slowed down to pedestrian speed coming down into town, the streets littered with people walking in and out of shops on the main drag, jaywalkers with a wish for death, and neon signs shining as brightly as they could in the mid-afternoon sun.

The more I thought about it, the car wash could wait. I don't necessarily feel like turning too many heads today. Here's to hoping the matte and grimy finish I run currently rolls under anyone's radar. It was a Camaro, so it's going to attract attention regardless. But hunger was killing me from the inside out, so off to a shop I went.

All it took was one glance down the main drag for an open restaurant. And as luck would have it a Burger King was to my immediate left. As luck WOULDN'T have it, it was populated. Not what I wanted, but I've been taking risks the past week, so what would this hurt. I tried my best to keep engine revs low not to attract any attention, which seemed to work as I worked on reversing into an open spot on the end. I carefully step out, leather jacket flexing under the stretching of my tense muscles, and shut the door.

I walk up and into the joint to see a bunch of teenagers floating around the booths. Me being only 20, I felt right at home. One kid has his ass in the air, another group is tossing around some kids backpack, and there was an old senile couple taking refuge in the back corner, away from the barbarians up front. I step up and open the door; a chime sounds from directly above me, signalling my entrance. Luckily nobody paid attention to my presence as I saunter up to the front counter. To my surprise the place was kept unbelievably clean, to the point where I could see I had a faint scruff on my face on the black countertop at the register.

Shit, all this stress and running around really takes a toll on me.

"How can I help you, sir?"

My reverie was interrupted by a flimsy pale teen with glasses shifting me glances. I point to my meal on the board, hoping he isn't brain dead and can read a hand signal. To my chagrin he had no idea what I was looking for. I wasn't up for restaurant counter conversation.

"He wants a #3, Trevor."

I glance behind me and see one of the kids from earlier helping me out. I faintly smirk and give him a nod in appreciation, as I didn't really feel like exercising my vocal cords anytime soon. And with that my order was set in, and I was about to sit down, and I heard a bunch of excited whispers. I glance out the window to see what the commotion was. Bad idea.

"Yo, check out that sick ride!"

"You see that grime dude, bet whoever drives that Camaro runs it HARD! You see the brake dust on those wheels right?!"

"What's a 'Camaro'? You boys…"

I spun on the heel of my boot and shifted towards a table as far away from the window as possible. I knew it was a matter of time before they found out, and I wasn't in any condition to run a 100m sprint out to my door and peel out. Instead I did my best to play it cool, plausible deniability being my best option.

"Hey buddy! You know whose car that is?"

I didn't want to look back, but I knew he was addressing me. I shook my head no and kept my gaze down at my phone, incase any impromptu from Neville or by some ungodly chance anybody else had something going on tonight. I heard the flexing of the booth material and I knew he was away. I could feel his gaze on me though; he knew it was mine, but wasn't going to go after me unless everyone else knew. Gotta hand it to him, he's got perception.

The next half hour had me grab my food, eat in strained silence, and finally walk out the door, everyone who was there initially kept their same spot. My boots crunched against the rough parking lot gravel on my way back to the Camaro. I figure skip the wash, and start scouring for parts or One Stop Shops; that seemed like a better plan to me. I felt every single pair of eyes on me as soon as I got in the car, and my suspicions were confirmed when I glanced over to the window. As I put the key in the ignition, I had this "urge" to rev my engine a bit too loudly. In the process of cold starting plus having other cars parked near me, the end result consisted of a ratchet symphony of car alarms and flashing lights.

Before anyone could run outside and stop me I began to peel out of the parking lot into oncoming, until merging back into my lane. I looked around to see if I could locate a 'One Stop Shop' anywhere nearby to upgrade my machine's potential. I eventually ventured towards the outskirts of Kempton towards the backroads and up near the winding trails of the coast roads near the boardwalk. Surely enough after searching for what felt like years, I had found my destination on the waterfront. It had no sign, so I park outside and knock on the flimsy metal gate hoping to gain entry. The only thing I was greeted with was a sign that says "REV IT"

So I did just that. I decompressed the clutch, slid the connecting rods from my shifter into neutral, and floored the gas pedal. My RPM's climbed instantly, with the raw power emanating from the motorcore and the exhaust. She was one bad bitch. After bouncing off the rev limiter on the tach, I eventually eased out of it and let the car idle. It's menacing and deep, throaty growl still sent shivers up through the leather seat into and up my spine.

It took not even 30 seconds for the garage door to open and for me to park on the open showroom floor. I was greeted by my wingman, Rog. Never in a million years would I have thought he'd have been around. His bald head, big built figure, and a black and red kitted out GTO directly behind him brought back a wave of memories.

"Welcome to AutoZone kid. It's been a long time since Rockport huh? You didn't hear from me once you took down Razor and you're more than likely wondering why. I got outta town before Cross and his pussy-whipped sidekick sent the entire fleet after you getting your ride back. I opened this place up once you dethroned and turned in the Blacklist."

I immediately went to protest, actually going to use my vocal chords and tell him off…

He held up one of his hands before I had a chance to speak. "I know you didn't intentionally set it up. I told you that Mia chick was bad news- to watch your back. Turns out the entire partnership lined her pockets and promoted her to Sergeant back in Rockport now. Cross is going to haunt every back alley and street corner you won't be expecting him to around here now that jurisdiction no longer applies in his line of work. And you know first-hand how his persistence warrants recklessness."

He pauses and motions for me to follow him around the shop.

"Your standard run of the mill parts emporium. Everything the One Stop Shop back home provided, now open in wider area spread across Palmont. Intakes, headers, exhaust, nitrous; You name it, it's in stock." He keeps walking around and pointing out different areas for parts and paints. After about 15 or so minutes of me getting acquainted in the place, I decided now was the time to fit some upgrades in.

"Can't sell you anything kid, before you go on writing me a list. You haven't won any races in any of the districts yet. Scouters I've recruited take data from the races, send it back to me, and I ultimately decide who can buy what here. Once you take down some of the smaller named crew territory around here, you got yourself a man for parts."

He knows I'm qualified, it had been a month or 2 easily, and yet here I was back to square one where everything essentially felt like Rockport at night. New car, new contacts, old wounds. The cycle never seems to stop repeating, and no matter how hard I try, it comes back and bites me in the ass. Royally pissed off, I just nodded and headed back to my car. Once I got in and was about to reverse out, Rog put his arm in the window and looked at me.

"Look kid, Palmont isn't industrial like Rockport is. I can tell it's been awhile since you've come around here. Off-road trails and shortcuts rarely exist in the cities; the most you'll uncover are unfinished road work areas and park entrances. Utilize those when the time comes, races will fly by in a breeze. Just be careful out there, I know you've got it all." With that he slapped the rear quarter and ushered me out into whatever daylight was left. If Rog wouldn't allow me performance, then sure as hell he wouldn't offer me bodykits or aerodynamics. Driving down the long stretch of road back into town under the sun was nothing short of breathtaking. Facing the gaseous giant face to face as I inch over the horizon, it falls further beneath until finally darkness set in, and the street racing night life accompanied the moonlight.

It wasn't even 10 minutes before I saw a small gathering on the far side of the Morgan Beach Offramp. I drove up to the host and he handed me a USB drive. I plugged it into my LCD monitor and the marked out route of the race was on for me. Looking from a bird's eye view, I was going to have to run my lines wide and roll inside. Essentially an F1 racing line, but I'll have to maintain a faint form of countersteering to ensure I don't scrub off all my speed. It being a Camaro, steel frame was the name of the game, and the name of the weight. Frankly I'm not sure my tire sidewalls can take much more abuse, nor can my rapidly balding tread either. Stakes were more than just cash now, but the car too.

I fired up the motor once again, but saw that I was below an ⅛th of a tank, and my patience was about an ⅛th of what it would've been under normal circumstances, since now I can't run it all out without some sort of failure on either end. It was fight or flight, and I felt my wings grow heavy, so the blacktop was my fighting option. I rolled up on the line against a rival crew battling for 21st Street Territory. The vinyl they adorned were yellow with red tribal siding, a trident with a flaming tail as a crew emblem. 2 Camaro's and a Charger R/T which, all seemed stock sounding. Both Camaro's idle revs sounded similar to mine, so I knew the cam profile on theirs was the same, and I'm pretty certain the most they have on them is some dry fog nitrous. The Charger was the outlier, and decided not to investigate his ride and just be wary once the race began. I don't know enough on the Hemi or Mopar as a brand to make an estimation.

What felt like 5 hours, was 5 minutes of waiting at the starting line until the flag girl ran between the row of 4 cars. Almost immediately exhaust backfire and unburnt oil turned to flames once she positioned herself center of the road. As her hands graced the horizon, the tachometer needles met their launch RPM's.

It all boiled down to reaction time. As soon as her arms reached her torso I hit the throttle, and by the time my tires absorbed all that power her arms were all the way down and I found a sliver of traction to inch me ahead of the opposition.

This is going to be one hell of a race.


	7. Chapter 7: Knock Knock, Let the Devil In

_**Once again uploading late and I do apologize. A family emergency nailed me with a tough setback on time. Nonetheless I had some help in deciding how to progress the story, but I'll keep him anonymous for now. Anyhow, I hope the long wait is OK, and the chapter as well.  
**_

* * *

Reaction time to rival that a Pro-MOD drag racer, I got off the holeshot and captured first place before my opposition even left the starting line. I quickly backed off the accelerator and coasted before the first corner and waited for the Inferno to catch up and file in front of me. This race would be one of endurance, not shear speed and steering, and I had to treat it as such. I needed to let them all pass by me before we entered the first corner as soon as they caught up.

I knew they didn't have to worry about their tire tread wearing or overheating, nor did they need to worry about fuel consumption, which staked me at a monumental disadvantage on a course with sweeping turns such as this one. I couldn't full throttle or input steering too hard, and I was struggling trying to formulate a plan, which wasn't going brilliantly. My reverie was interrupted by the loud growl of 3 throaty V8's screaming by me on the right side at double my speed.

Once the first corner approached, the rival crew was able to powerslide through and over the curb and maintain a decent form of speed on their exit. Myself on the other hand, I had to drop my RPM's down to 2,000 in 2nd gear to make sure I wouldn't encounter wheelspin on the entry and exit. My line was pretty much running the outside wall of the turn and inching closer towards the middle of the course. I could faintly see the other drivers ahead of me, but I knew their lead would increase if I didn't take a few risks. I didn't want to lose, losing was something I didn't do. I applied full throttle in 3rd gear, waited until the tachometer needle met redline, and shifted into 4th.

Or at least I tried to.

I let off the gas all the way, pushed in the clutch pedal and tried connecting my shifter into the gate of 4th gear, but it wouldn't budge at all. The transmission was overheating from driving all day; something I should've been wary of. Now I only have 3 gears on a course that requires wide open throttle and long gearing to make any sort of progress. I kept chugging along to the best of my ability, which was behind the pack of drivers. Turn after turn was the same old story; pedal the car to the point of borderline pedestrian speed, lose precious time and essentially give up the race at every corner. A sharp right came up after a short straight-away and I mentally prepared my line, apex, and exit. The finish line was in sight and I had 2 more turns until I was home free.

Of course Lady Luck came back to meddle with my already piss poor bout of luck. Unfortunately a taxi pulled out directly in the middle of my line as I was about to enter. As if the rotten bout of luck I was experiencing wasn't enough as it is.

In a panic I shoved the shifter into neutral, the lever grinding against the transmission synchros until it finally gave in. This meant I couldn't input any throttle in an attempt to salvage my line. My balding rear treads made it so I slid out further coming closer and closer to a concrete construction barrier. They may as well have been bias-ply tires, the lack of traction I had here. I was sweating bullets in the 5 seconds this has all been occuring, and it didn't help that in 5 more seconds I wouldn't be able to feel anything.

It seemed as though time slowed down for me to make a move. I engaged the shifter into 2nd gear and hit the throttle, keeping it planted as far down on the floor mats as it could. I could feel the cheap plastic pedal beneath my boots flex under the added tension, but I kept it matted and applied full opposite lock on the wheel in attempts to countersteer and drift out of this scenario. All I had to do now was maintain position and pray to the car gods that this night wouldn't be my last. Smoke clouded my peripherals as the engine was whimpering and whining sending the tiny plumes out between the gaps in the hood and straight through and out the back of the exhaust tips.

The wall was coming closer now.

3 seconds until impact.

I knew I wasn't getting out of this unscathed, nor was the car by any stretch. I fumbled for the seatbelt buckle in attempts to lessen the blow the inertia would send to my body upon impact. Because of my clammy state the buckle slipped once and I almost dropped it. I felt like Neo. Every valuable second being wasted by a force completely out of my control, no way to counter it.

2 seconds.

I finally clasp the belt into the buckle on the bench seat and prepare to brace for a brutal impact. At this point me and the car found ourselves on a patch of dirt leading up to the impact point. Dust, dirt, and debris sent through the front grille clogged up the carburetor within an instant, and soon the engine was feeding on the trash mixed in with the oil. I shifted my glance to the oil pressure gauge and saw it rapidly increase all the way until it was maxed out. At that same moment the engine died all together, leaving nothing but a 2 ton heavyweight at 50mph with a horror-stricken pilot to endure a miserable bout of pain.

1 second.

Times up.

Nothing could've prepared me for the agony I was facing.

The front left quarter panel made contact first, crumpling under the contact of the barrier. The fender bracing and the control arms and axles went shortly after, the wall showing no signs of budging. Soon the drivers side door plowed into the erected structure, I was thrown by the shear amount of inertia out of my seat as the car was making impact. The belts holding me down instantly gave way leaving me vulnerable to whatever came next. Once the entire car came in contact with the barrier, the plume cloud of smoke erupted from the motor and the hood pins became unclasped and threw the shaped piece of metal off the car completely, now my vision totally blinded.

But it wasn't over yet.

The weight of the car and the weight of the barrier tipped over to the left side, sending both the concrete and the car airborne with all that kinetic force behind. Now sitting airborne in a flying car, arms flailing and voice hoarse and panic-stricken, it was inevitable the impact was going to hurt like a bitch, and as much as I knew that, I wasn't even remotely close to ready to endure any of it.

And there was the crunch.

After flying at least 15 feet upward, barreling and careening over the desolate, dark street was my landing zone; hard packed dirt. The car came down on the roof, sending a shockwave throughout the entire chassis, aching to be let go of the immense amount of tension and stress. Next my body slammed down onto the hard-packed ground with the roof as my shock absorber. I could feel my skeleton buckle under the immense amounts of pressure, and it kept building. As the rest of the car collided with my back and folded around me. My body was forced to fold into a ball to absorb the impact of 2 tons of steel coming down hard on me. I felt like I was on fire, every bone and ligament aching for release, the pressure becoming too much for my body to handle. As the car rolled over one final time, all of the broken glass began piercing my skin, leaving trails of blood in every which direction, My forehead nailed a sharp piece of glass leftover from whatever window it was shook out of, and pierced through my already barbarically bloody skin. Once I felt the vertigo fade away I felt nauseous, if I felt anything at all. My vision was blurry and my ears were ringing. My breath was hitched in my throat and the only noise I could make was a faint whimper.

The pain was immense.

I was trapped inside a dented and broken shell of a car whilst my lifeforce slowly begins to fade away due to loss of blood and probably even nerve damage by this point. I tried summoning whatever leftover energy I had to kick out a panel and slip underneath the wreckage. Unfortunately, the moment I made contact, was the moment my femur bone broke contact with cartilage, leaving it broken and leaving my emotional state in tatters. I began thinking this all happened for a reason. I suspected foul play for a split second, then realized nobody was that petty to slip underneath and sabotage my car.

The corners of my vision grew black with a regretful haze as I came to the conclusion this was the end of the road for me. All it took was my brash and infantile impatience for my life to close the curtains on me.

I had a wingman.

He could've blocked my opponents from passing or ram them off the road allowing me to win. 20/20 hindsight really is a whole bitch at times, this one being the worst account of my ignorance. Neville would've been the one to lead me across the finish line in one piece, but instead here I am in a weakened state and comparing my situation to a bunch of 'what if' scenarios. I felt hollow thinking back to what I had 'accomplished' over the years.

I lost a girlfriend. My best friend.

I won street races.

I was victim of a hit.

I won more races.

I got locked up for standing around.

I jumped a bridge with an entire police force chomping on my ass.

I'm neglected by my old family.

Wallowing in self pity seemed like the only thing I was capable of doing right now. May as well recognize all of my bad omens and unkept promises since the inception of my racing. Had this incident not occured I would've been an errand boy with a never ending agenda. I would've progressed to higher class vehicles until my debt was paid off. And at that point, what would've been the reward? Calling the odds between me and Darius even? Nikki still relentlessly making my guilty self that much worse?

I lost her before I lost anything else the moment I crossed that finish line.

And yet my good fortune wasn't over yet, as now there were inbound sirens - Cops.

I just remained folded in on myself as the Doppler Effect from the sirens grew louder and closer. I began to relax, tension no longer an option as there is no escape opportunity to be on high alert for. My fate was sealed as tightly as the handcuffs to my hospital bed and the shackles to my prison cell would soon be. Instead of letting my eyelids drift shut, I squeezed them together tightly as the pain flared up again from all parts of my body. I've struggled by this point not to let any tears flow, but in my current form it wasn't as though somebody would notice. I let burst a massive dam of emotions and let the the tears stream down my rough patchy skin and puddle beneath my seat. My body racked with sobs and wails as my shuddering figure grew louder within the confines of the wreckage I've caused.

My consciousness was fading due to my immense blood loss, shards of razor-sharp glass embedded into my once decent looking skin. The sirens grew louder, and the civic cars grew closer to the point where the ambient blue and reds are seen radiating in hues off the polished steel buildings. Bigger shades of red and blue cascaded through the complexes behind my crash site and were closing in within the next minute. I heard the modular V8's coming from the South, but now there was a 3rd V8 coming from the Eastward side and closing in faster than my black and white assailants were. Abruptly, the pavement was shaking as 2 tires were skidding in my general direction. The miniature cataclysm I was feeling subsided as I heard the opening and closing of a car door, with light airy footsteps to follow. I felt the door I was leaning against give way and fall to the side as 2 pairs of hands guided me out and into the backseat of what looked like a Blue sedan, but with my blurry vision and black-dotted peripherals the make and model seemed uninteresting at best. I was tossed onto a bench seat and had the door slam shut as the other 2 occupants got in the front seats and sped off with me in tow. The passenger kept sparing glances over her shoulder, but when I coughed and heaved, only did they look back and show me their face.

The last thing I saw before blacking out completely was a ponytail and a trenchcoat.

* * *

 _The horizon was hued in a rich shade of black and grey, infused with the neon lights of Fortuna as Nikki and I trekked along the University Campus at midnight. Both of us in Junior year of high school, we wanted to expand our little stint in racing into a full career; and P.U would be the place to do it. My arm around her waist and my leather jacket draped around her as we strolled let the world know that we were an inseparable pair. Territory under control of TFK never spared a moment's worth of silence, and we both got a taste of just that, as a Porsche Cayman S, Aston Martin DB9, and Alfa Romeo Brera screamed by inches away from the sidewalk we were on, and continued on down the stretch. The night life in Fortuna was definitely a riot, one to be involved with if you had the proper connections. If you weren't racing at full throttle, your faithfulness bound only to your crew, TFK wasn't the avenue for you._

 _After Nikki decided she'd had enough of the campus scenery, we found it best to leave and head for home back in the outskirts of Downtown. We rounded the corner to the parking complex and ascended what felt like years worth of stairs until we reached the top level. Tucked neatly in the further corner of the concrete structure stood a 1995 Mazda MX-5. It wore a blemish-free white paintjob like a runway model. RS Watanabe 15" wheels wrapped in 235/50/15 Toyo Proxes made it a grip monster. But don't you believe for a moment that she was down on power by any means. Oh no, she got the royal treatment, a transplanted Renesis Rotary motor from an RX-8 gave her a healthy dose of 250hp._

 _As Nikki approached, I was about to offer her the door, but she'd rather Dukes of Hazzard style hop in the passenger seat, which was fine by me once I stifled a laugh at her antics. I slipped in shortly after and slotted the key into the ignition, flipped my oil cooler fans on and turned the key with the clutch in. The 1.3L roared to life and peaked at 9,500 RPM; apex seals on the rotor gliding beautifully along the rim of the chamber it was housed in. I slipped the sequential dogbox transmission into 1st gear and fishtailed out of my parking spot down towards the bottom of the building. I shifted my G-forces towards the left side of the car as I directed the motion fluently down the spiral towards the main road. I glanced to my right and saw the brightest smile, I swore the sun was blinding my vision. But no, it was just Nikki, and through my eyes that was pretty much the same thing._

 _We coasted down the backroads into Downtown, carving out every apex and racing line the road threw at me. My concentration couldn't possibly be broken._

 _But, it was._

 _Nikki yawned beside me and that was my queue to slow it down some and cruise along sensibly. Her appreciation was gifted through her heavy and tired form leaning up against mine and taking my body hostage. I could feel her breathing slow down and her eyelids droop further down as she was nearly knocked out. I gave her forehead a faint kiss and went to upshift._

 _"I love you, John"_

 _I smiled in acknowledgement, knowing she was far past the stages of waking up again. I merely kept my eyes forward, smile never leaving my lips as I trekked into Downtown, rotary spinning in rhythm with my heartbeat. All of the sudden, a loud crash was heard, and my vision clouded instantaneously with pure white. The car disappeared from beneath me and I was intangibly bounded to a seat as the picture seen through my eyes changed to one of a hospital room. I looked around as far as my head could swivel and saw nothing but a lifeless corpse hooked up to a heart monitor with an oxygen mask and IV's coming out of it. I allowed myself to walk over and lift the cover off the figure. What I uncovered was surreal. It couldn't be possible. What did it mean?_

 _It was me._

* * *

I shot up and spiked the monitor levels through the maximum and set an alert off as I leaned on my elbow and stared around to make sure this was real and not another hallucination. I pinched myself multiple times, and concluded I wasn't dreaming. Just then a nurse threw the double doors to my room open and in tow followed the face that stole the smile from my face merely moments ago. Although that face wasn't as happy.

Nikki.


	8. Chapter 8 : A Familiar Sense of Deja Vu

_**A lack of motivation during the holiday and a little less of reviews than I would've hoped for had me leave this story for a little bit. With a creative barrier and writer's block fogging my mind, I essentially re-did Chapter 2 or 3; can't remember which. Anyway, here's the 8th installment.**_

* * *

I sat up frozen with a panic-stricken face at seeing her here, and in my predicament. I was more than positive she was here to chew me out and insult my piss poor driving technique. Same outfit, same stoic face as before- but something seemed off. Her facial expression wasn't vindictive, nor was it one of 'I told you so'. Instead, her eyebrows furrowed and her face fell as she took in all of what was left of me.

"Why…" she whispered. "Back in the day you used to be an unstoppable force. Now all of the sudden you waltz back in town with all of your past experience erased from the slate. She increases the octave in her voice, "John I don't get it! It seems like your state of being just disintegrated as soon as you left Palmont!"

I sat there in silence as she examined the situation. She tried masking the fact she did care; that much was obvious, but it didn't exactly put me at ease. I was walking, or rather leaning into a barrage of questions about my level of skill and how I could be as 'careless' as to let this happen.

"John, I know you have a voice in there somewhere. I could tell you've been suppressing your vocals ever since you left the moment I saw you." She smirked. "Choking on all the words you wanted to say, but in remembering you had a facade to put up you swallowed it all. Just know I can keep secrets. I still have mine from the 3 years you left I haven't shared."

I contemplated it. Was it finally time to open up again? Was I safe the never-ending streak of betrayal and injury? As far as I could predict, the future I would have here in Palmont seemed grim, with those who knew of my name before siding with those who want me gone, and those like Nikki who just want to understand, but mask their concern with resentment and placing guilt. The acknowledgement of my situation brought her satisfaction, which I suppose is substitution for genuine care

"Look. For what it's worth, I did hate you initially. You upped and left and never said a word for 3 years. Now all of the sudden you come back without warning; I'm not going to be the same person I used to be before. I'm still wary in trusting you again, and I will be until I hear the full story, from you or someone else. When you're ready, tell me. Just know, that my interactions with you wont be any more airy and heartfelt.

And with that she clicks her heels on the linoleum in the opposite direction leaving me alone.

I gather she'll still give me the hardcore resting bitch treatment once I recover, and the only reason she said all that was to inspire my ass with hope. But I had more pressing issues now.

Who was the other person with Nikki?

What will I do for a car?

Am I even able to DRIVE?

I pushed a red button on the side of my bed to motion in a nurse or a doctor, letting them know I'm awake and stable. Within moments a flowing white scrub uniform with a stethoscope enter before the doctor does. Your standard, run-of-the-mill 50 year old with bald spots from stress.

"Mr. Tanner, while I don't know the extent of your accident, I do know the condition of your injuries. Might I say young man, you've got to be the luckiest son of a bitch resting in a hospital bed in this very time. The impact on your back stunned your nervous system with temporary paralysis, which you'll rest to recover from. Of course we'll keep you here until then."

He must've seen my downcast expression and wanted words of comfort. I put my hand up as a sign of surrender, not needing to hear a lecture. But he continued on anyway.

The doctor sighed, "Look Mr. Tanner. I'll give it you straight; You can't walk for a solid 2 weeks. Fractured femur bone on both legs and a sprain to your left wrist don't even come close to half your injuries. Bottom line is you're lucky to be alive, but this will be a costly fix for you. We're talking 6 figures maximum for the amount of treatment and surgery you'll be requiring. Good luck young man. I wish there was more I could offer." And with that he ushered himself out in quite the hurry.

I sat there in stunned silence, absorbing all that information. Not only is Darius on my accounts payable checkbook, but now I have haunting hospital bills as an added bonus. Not to mention I can't move for a solid while. Now crews out there are tackling territory whilst I sit here pondering my next move, or rather movement. Dawn turned to dusk, turned to midnight and the cycle repeated for days on end. I felt like an asylum patient, held captive away from forms of life as punishment for my actions. Sure there was a TV but you can only watch current events and shitty daytime TV shows before you become a REAL insane patient.

 _1 week later…_

* * *

 _Journal entry #6_

 _Day 6 of physiotherapy and I'm finally regaining use of my legs. The arms and shoulders were no issue, but I have a cast surrounding both legs. They have me using my upper arms to hold balance over a set of 2 beams as I lower my legs onto the floor. Once they made contact, I felt the blood sporadically moving within the tendons of my feet and was able to begin walking again. Albeit at a crawling pace, this life beats one with a wheelchair as my vehicle with 4 wheels. Keeping these logs of my progress is regressive at best. My own thoughts are the only things reading these until I turn them over on my final day of treatment, I may as well give myself a lethal lithium dosage to remain sane…_

 _Journal entry #9_

 _Day 9 of my treatment plan finds me using both my legs again. Of course with a lovely amount of support from handrails and my walking cane to maneuver, it would seem as though my recovery is going better than expected. I was informed I'll be desensitized to certain amounts of pain, since the nervous system receptors were damage and need time to recover themselves. Susceptible to a weakened immune system in areas with dense congestion of air particles. Other than that, I'm going to live._

 _These entries I've grown fond of, as it's a way to express whatever intelligence I think I have with no shots back or it's just a waiting game, needing to bide my time and think about how I'm going to get out of here and back on the road. The police report on the news suggested thieves in a carjacking of the Camaro, so at the very least I'll get a check in compensation, lucky me._

* * *

 _1 more week goes by…_

"Mr. Tanner you seem well enough to find yourself discharged today. 2 weeks of physio seems to have done you a positive. Nonetheless we're ecstatic to see you leave." This came from the now peachy-keen doctor.

Ecstatic to see my wallet I'm sure. Only problem was I needed a massive loan in order for them to allow me to leave. After a ring from the bank, I used the check from the Camaro wreck as a down payment so I could get the hell out.

And once I signed an assload of papers and stepped outside into the blinding mid-morning sun. My slightly more pale complexion greeting the sun with giddiness as I absorbed the UV rays and the heat that came with it. Nobody was around to pick me up at this point; but I did have my phone. I held my cell signal up and triangulated car dealerships in Palmont. Nearest one was conveniently half a mile down the road. I trekked along, my now worn steel-toed boots wavering with every footstep. My torn jeans getting caught on the concrete slabs beneath me. And the wind piercing my skin through the vast amount of holes in my jacket and shirt.

Passerbys gave me their glares for being a bad influence to impressionable children, and those who wavered their glances from disgust to empathy.

I don't do empathy.

Now there was a problem. I didn't have cash, period.

From the ballsy and impulsive decisions I've made recently, I made another brilliant decision and walked through the doors empty handed. The hospital took whatever savings I had left from my time across country, plus the down payment I made and now I was left seemingly broke. I glanced around my surroundings and was a bit taken aback by the stock they had up. On a rotating platform stood a Mitsubishi Mirage. The desk secretary seems elated that someone stepped inside the dealership today, and launched up from her spot to greet me. I could tell she was laid back and needed something to do.

"Hey welcome! I can tell you've been through a rough time….Fight?" I nodded in acknowledgement. I wasn't going to tell her of my hospital discharge minutes earlier. I don't do pity when I can help it.

"Anyhow, I can tell that cash is an issue for you. No disrespect there, but assuming you walked into a decently high-end dealership in torn rags…...let's just say one can assume such things. I'm not supposed to be doing this…..But…..Let me just show you what I mean." She stands firmly and motions for me to follow her to a docking yard outside. When the garage door opens out back I see a barrage of what looks like a ton of abandoned cars here. I guess nobody here felt the need to pay their bills. But the large quantity here is surreal at most. Tuners, Muscles, even some Exotics lined the parking lot.

"Welcome to the graveyard. That's what I call it anyway. Everything you see out here was either not paid for or not picked up. With nobody to take them away, and the immense cost on us it would be to scrap them left the dealer in a tight spot. So here they sit. I can see from your wandering eyes you'll want to have a field day out here. Just come back 'round the front of the store when you've found what you're looking for. I'll take care of the rest." She winked at me as she went back inside.

For the first time in a long time I felt excited. The assortment was crazy. Almost as packed from a bird's eye perspective as a Copart auction lot. As I strolled up and down the complex I came across all kinds of cars. Nissan 240's and 350's, older model Evo's and STi's, SN95 Mustangs and 5th gen SS Camaros. There was a Lotus Evora 400, a bizarre Lamborghini Jalpa, and even crazier than that was an Ascari KZ1R missing a wing and 2 full sized wheels. From an un-assuming looking pedestrian car dealership, I was pleasantly surprised. But now this opened up an avenue for me to do work on my cars, if they had an alignment rack and a lift I could do essentially everything. I narrowed down my search to a Tuner, Muscle, and Exotic and decided to strategize accordingly if I want Kempton under my control, same as before back when Nikki brought me back into the scene.

On the Tuner Spectrum, I picked out a Mitsubishi 3000GT VR-4. While a heavyweight and a slug compared to its competitors, with a bit of weight stripping and beefing of the bulletproof V6, it should prove to be formidable against the major crews. Bulk up the twin turbo set-up would suffer from lag, but the delivery in power would prove useful for the last second saves. It would more than likely suffer from the AWD setup in corners, but for the highway runs and straights it would truck along without issue. Active aero on this car can only provide so much under intense cornering and braking, so fixed aero will save weight and save my turning circle as well. All-in -all, extensive modification would have to happen straight away.

The Muscle side of the board gave me a Pontiac GTO ; A decommissioned undercover cop car with the widebody and wheel set-up applied as standard. The LS2 motor within this car provides ample power and torque instantly on the punch of the throttle, making it ideal for drifting and drag events. Once again weight becomes an issue, so savings there would allow cornering to come easier if circuits and sprints become more commonplace. Keeping the motor N/A would give me instant power delivery at no cost to the motor, or I could supercharge it and extract even bigger gains, but sacrifice the life left in the motor. Only coming in an automatic transmission would mean either working around it, or swapping it out for something like a Tremec T50. This time the Muscle class would serve as a middle ground.

Finally, the Exotic comes around. A ratty, rusty RUF CTR Yellowbird sat tucked away rotting underneath a tattered and torn thin canvas. The bodywork was pitted and deteriorating, and the same for better or worse can be said for the interior. I popped the rear hatch to find the aircooled flat 6 still in one piece, albeit not functional by any stretch of the imagination. Alternator and the belts were ripped to shreds, the radiator fans were bent in about 4 different directions; and worst of all the transaxle planted below the motor was snapped in 2. If I were to get this car, I couldn't race immediately, and would have to source parts anonymously from Rockport. Rog wouldn't allow me access into AutoZone for not winning a race yet, and I'm still owed backroom favors from the One-Stop Shops back in Rockport.

Time for a second decision to be made. Which class do I dominate with in Kempton?


End file.
